Nice Fox
by pistachio gelato
Summary: George didn't care if everyone else thought he had cracked. He truly believed that his twin was back among the living, just as a fox.


**A Beginning Note**: This idea primarily stemmed from the awesome, awesome song called 'Nice Fox' (original in my titles, no?) by The Rosebuds. I'd really appreciate it if you look it up on YouTube and listened to it while reading this. Back to the story, I already did a one-shot George-coping story (_The Aftermath_) but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and before I knew it, it was all written out. Sorry George!

**A Dull Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>Nice Fox<strong>

A choppy story where George believes his twin is now a fox.

.

George blinked and Spring was already over.

It was a little shocking, to see so much life spring around flourish, when all he could focus on was a death barely a month ago. He knew to others it looked like he was handling the grief well. They had always been crafty in the act of acting.

He couldn't make himself give beaming smiles anymore, but he could manage half-smiles or ghost-of-a-smile smiles, sometimes even a I'm-fine-really smile. George didn't talk about it, but he listened to everyone else talk. He had been unable to give a speech at the funeral, but Dad and every other sibling had done a fine enough job. Poor Ron hadn't made it a sentence in before becoming a blubbering fool.

Considering how others handled grief like a heavy stone in their stomach, George viewed it more like consequences for bad behavior. He pushed it away, allowing others to deal with it for him. George knew how to busy himself to ignore it. Yet no matter how cunning he thought himself to be, detention was not something that could be eluded forever.

.

It was now well in to the sticky and hot month of July. George sat in the beating hot sun, not caring as he got sunburn on his neck and forearms.

As the sunlight kept viciously beating down and biting into him, the redhead wondered was doing in his life and more specifically what he was _going_ to do. He had never had to make a decision in his life alone. _He_ had always been there. Now George had all this responsibility on his shoulders: To not look suicidal, to get back to the shop before Ron blew it apart, to somehow eat and breath and sleep and appear human.

A rustling aside of George distracted him; he turned slowly, not bothering to bring out his wand.

He stared as a small fox ambled out of the bushes who took one petrified look at him before bolting back into the underbrush.

.

George was certain the fox was following him.

The redhead had taken to the habit of taking morning walks, just before the sun rose. The world was quiet and George could immerse himself in that, allow everything to fall away before that blinding orb came over the horizon. Now when he walked barefoot through the grassy hills and felt the night chill melt away, a flash of orange could be seen alongside him.

.

Seeing that familiar flash of color and interested, brown eyes made George remember when they were just little boys running rampant around the house. When their pranks were as advanced as sticking their broccoli under the table. Or how they sneaked into Charlie's room and snitched his broom. They were light enough to fly together, and they took turns steering and simply coming along for the ride.

He turned his head quickly and stared down the fox who had been trying to sneak up on him.

The animal was entirely still for those moments that their eyes were connected. Then it was broken as it cautiously sprung up on George's feet. It nipped at his bare toes, making him holler, before it sprinted off.

.

George blinked at the sight before him through the kitchen window.

The fox was terrorizing the gnomes this way and that, its little fanged mouth snapping at the gnomes that were barely its own size (huge tail included). The ugly creatures bustled about in great confusion and pain, when the fox found purchase with its teeth or when they ran in to each other. Soon they were stumbling out of the garden for refuge in the hills, the fox still jumping and snapping before every one was gone.

It picked its tail up in triumph, swatted the dirt beneath its paws, and prancing back off through the underbrush.

.

"I know you're there."

The fox moved silently, but forgot how bright its coat was and how it gave him away against the swaying green grass.

"Why do you keep following me?"

George was sure he looked ridiculous, crouching down to get to the fox's level, but he did live in a magical world. Talking to a wild animal wasn't nearly the worst he could do.

The fox stopped moving, and George lifted an eyebrow as it lifted its head from the grass willingly. It yipped at him, and George felt like it was scolding him.

"That's all you're going to tell me?"

The petite animal slunk through the grass closer to him, its white-tipped tail swaying behind it. When it arrived at George, it made a move to attack his toes, but found with a bump that he was wearing shoes today.

"Hah!" George said in victory as he pointed at it.

It changed tactics to his finger, and George yelped again as it nipped playfully.

.

"I think he's alive again."

The bustling dinner table instantly stilled and all heads turned to him. Even without George saying his name, everyone knew.

"W-What was that, Georgie dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, the only one brave enough to speak.

"I think he's back," George said with confidence. "He's just a fox now."

The fact that no one laughed out right at him showed just how much his family loved him.

.

Everyone chalked it up as a sign he was breaking. Thinking his soul had moved on, only to go to a fox's body, was ludicrous at best. There was enough evidence in the magical world that when someone passed on, they passed on. It was either that or become a ghost. There was no reincarnation or nine-lives. One shot, one go that only took one green-flashed curse to take away.

Yet George was still convinced the fox was _him_. It had _his_ mannerisms, it had _his_ habits: it liked to chase the gnomes! He had never seen a fox do that before.

He didn't care what his family thought anymore or of maintaining this uncrushable persona. George didn't care if he knew, deep down, that his family was right and believing this animal was his twin. George knew hope was making him blind, but he would rather be blind then simply give up on these feelings.

.

The fox now had no fear of George. Each time the young man maneuvered beyond the garden the fox jumped about his feet. Sometimes it would claw its way up his pants to his shoulders. There it perched itself on his head (their bright reds clashing magnificently) before leaping off.

When George sat down, it would curl up between his legs and allow George to pet him. It was these little moments that made George feel everything was finally going to be alright.

.

George honestly didn't understand why no one believed him.

It seemed everyone in the family had at least on encounter with the fox, as if _he_ was seeking each member out to give a unique hello. Just yesterday Ginny had gone out for a fly on her broom, only to find said broom being gnawed on by the fox. She had shooed it away, where it ran back to a half-smiling George.

It wasn't that much of a stretch. The fox had similar colors to _him_, red hair and brown eyes and was just as mischievous as him. Everyone was tired of telling George those reasons were because it was a fox. Foxes were like that in nature; it was nothing special.

Yet he was special to George.

.

He grinned as the fox rubbed against the palm of his hand gently, his nose on the end of his long mussel twitching.

"I don't care what everyone else thinks. I think you're brilliant," George said down to him in a hush.

The fox obviously couldn't understand his words, but the animal seemed to understand his tone as he licked at the tip of his freckled-nose. George smiled prematurely, as the next moment his teeth sank in.

.

Oddly enough, Ron who was the sole person to not voice any concern or disagreement about the fox being him. Maybe it was because he had spent the most time with them growing up or was their younger brother still afraid they would turn his possessions into spiders. He had been unmoved about the subject, until George turned to footsteps and saw his lanky persona make his way towards him. The fox in George's arms perked his ears up in interest.

Ron sat down beside of them and gave a wavy smile first to George, and then to the fox. His large eyes didn't blink as he stared at the younger redhead. Ron turned back to watching the grass, and George turned back to petting the fox. George thought he would just sit with them, but then his voice broke the silence.

"Odd how he's only one of two kits, yeah? Usually they come all in a bundle, like if we were all born at once. Little scary, really. Imagine if _we_ were born all at once."

"I've only seen this one," George said in confusion. He had thought it odd how there was only one kit, but with the belief that it was him easily explained it.

Ron shrugged his freckled shoulders at this. "I've only seen them together a few times. Mostly the other one comes to pester this one when it's waiting for you, or watch when you finally do come out."

.

Now that George was aware there was another fox, he kept his eyes wide open for it. It only took a few more visits to the fields to spot another set of brown eyes watching him through the swaying grass.

"Your brother?" George asked the fox that had decided to sprawl itself on his shins today before turning his sight back on the other bright-haired animal.

The fox jumped up and perched itself on George's foot. There he began yipping in the direction of the other. When it still stayed hidden, the fox bounded off of George and to it. George only caught glimpses of the wrestling animals. For the first time since his death, George felt himself laugh. It was odd hearing it and belatedly realizing he was the one laughing. It was like waking up from your own snoring; George felt awake with a sudden jolt. _He_ had always said laughter was the true magic of the world.

The fox slunk back out, his brother still hidden. George sighed at it before he stood, roughly brushing grass off of his pants.

Swooping down, he picked up the small fox without any strain. It seemed a little alarmed at being held without so much as warning, as its high yipping voice rang out in clear alarm. They had spent many hours together, and through it there was some domestication, but he still was a wild animal.

At the sounds of distress from his brother, the other fox finally sprang out of the vegetation. One of its ears was a little bent, and George felt a wave of guilt as he knew they had fought over him. Some useless human who they didn't need in their short lives.

"Time for you to go back to your brother," he said as he held the squirming fox still in his hands.

He threw it out towards the other fox and watched as it sailed through the air; its small paws flailing in the air and the long, bushy tail streaming behind it. It gave a slight yelp as it landed on all fours, as George had been careful on how he cast it out. The fox turned back to him instinctively, his tail twitching in aggravation at the brash toss. George had always been gentle and cautious with it, when he had wanted so hard to believe he was his twin brought back to him.

"Get out of here!" George made himself exclaim.

The volume of his voice made the two foxes do just that, leaving George alone.

.

"He's waiting for you," Ginny said as she looked out the window.

George didn't need to be told this; he had seen the fox sitting in a flowerpot, staring in to the den George was reading in, seconds after he'd entered the room. The fox had given some yelps of exclamation as George continued to ignore him.

"Don't you... want to see him?" Ginny continued to speak cautiously.

"That's not _him_," he told her simply.

"Why not? You seemed set on it a while ago," Ginny said hesitantly, clearly offset by how he had changed his opinion as fast as he had seemed to make it.

George gave a bitter smile. "He has a brother. If it was _him_... he would've wait for me to be that brother."

.

It was a late Saturday afternoon and George was sitting on the porch, sipping a butter beer absently to give him something to do. It was better than trying to join in on the muddled conversations going on between his family. It was a nice afternoon and everyone seemed happy enough, given the weight of a war recently ended.

George was studying the fringe of trees by the garden, where the fox had taken to sit and watch him recently.

The redhead almost sloshed his drink down his chest when he saw not one, but two flashes of vivid orange in the dimming sunlight. He heard their playful yips echo across the lawn to him even after they were lost in the tall grass again.

.

The glimpses of the fox became less and less, although now when George saw him he was always coupled with his brother. The two had seemed to become inseparable since George had cut his ties with one of them. He watched as their bodies filled out their glossy pelts and their faces grew into their large eyes. Now from the amount of the two being together, George was unable tell them apart.

George recognized everything was right then.

.

George knew that the fox would die soon.

It was already many years since it was born that fateful summer; George had seen how old it was now. The gnomes were not nearly as terrorized when it came around as before. Good thing it had kits and grand-kits to chase them away for him now.

Even knowing he would soon never see that unique fox again, George knew it was alright.

"Death isn't so bad, right Fred?" George asked out one brilliant summer day.

It seemed his son believed George was addressing him, as he gurgled up at his father eagerly and grabbed at his hanging red hair.


End file.
